


The Forces of Good

by SerenitysSwirl



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Police, Background Chex - Freeform, Gen, Gun Violence, Illustrated, Minor Injuries, Minor Tuckington - Freeform, RvB Big Bang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenitysSwirl/pseuds/SerenitysSwirl
Summary: Tucker and Tex are buddy cops who’re just trying to figure each other out while fighting crime. The Reds are a ragtag group of criminals who need to steal to survive. Together, somehow, they are the forces of good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to finally be posting for the RvB Big Bang event! This is still incomplete, but will be updated weekly.
> 
> All the [amazing art you see](https://piratelynlyn.tumblr.com/post/157657641580/i-want-off-the-ride-now-my-first-image-for) is done by [Pirate LynLyn!](http://piratelynlyn.tumblr.com)

Tucker’s head snaps up at the sound of harsh tapping on the driver’s side window.

“Officer Teeex?” a muffled voice drawls. “Can you roll down the window?”

Tex does so, turning to look at the man stood next to the police cruiser. He’s at least a foot taller than Tucker, and has deep blue eyes despite his olive skin and dark, curly hair. His clothes look like they were scavenged from the garbage behind an old folks’ home. “How’s it going, Caboose?” Tex asks, reaching for her breast pocket. “Here for your usual?”

Caboose nods happily, catching the loose change she drops into his hand. “Thank you, Taxes! Who’s that?” He points at Tucker, who stares back in confusion.

“That’s the rookie, Tucker. My new partner,” Tex answers, waving a hand to the passenger seat. “I haven’t threatened to kick him in the balls for a good five minutes, so you’ve caught us at a decent time.”

“Hey!” Tucker exclaims as Caboose blinks wearily at him. “Don’t talk about my balls that way.”

Caboose shakes his head. “Right!” he says, rubbing the coins in his hand. “Right, yes, right. I will see you later, Texas. Yes, goodbye!” With that, he rounds the front of the cruiser and strolls into a nearby convenience store.

“So…” Tucker says, glancing over at Tex. Her lips are thin, eyes unreadable behind her sunglasses. A hand hangs loosely on the steering wheel and her thumb strokes the stitching idly. “You wanna tell me what the hell that was about? Who was that guy?”

Tex sighs. “Caboose. He’s a homeless guy I always run into. Likes their gumball machines.” She nods her head in the direction of the store. Caboose can be seen just inside the building, slipping coins into the machine. “He’s been...on the streets for a while.”

“Oh,” Tucker says, sitting back in his seat. He doesn’t really know what the hell to say to that, so he gazes out the window instead. “No action today. Hey, how much longer until we can head back to the station? I have a collection of dirty movies burning a hole in the recorded section of my TV at home.” Tucker knows there must be a way to connect “no action today” to some sort of come-on. _Maybe the two of us could make our own action_. Tex’s head drifts to look back at the convenience store again as Caboose strolls out. Tucker opens his mouth as her hand slips off its perch. “Maybe--”

“I’ll be right back,” Tex interrupts, getting out of the car and heading in Caboose’s direction. Tucker calls out to her as she leaves, but he’s ignored. Why does his partner have to be icy as hell? The only time she speaks to him is to either give orders or yell at him.

Tucker watches as Tex approaches Caboose. The man beams, giving a small wave. Tucker’s eyes wander while they speak. He glances at her ass, then the furrow of Caboose’s brow, then a woman crossing the street, then _her_ ass, then the clock, then the other cars in the parking lot, then back at Tex as she escorts Caboose toward their cruiser, then--

Tucker shuffles up straight as the pair round the front of the car. Tex opens a backseat door, then her own, sliding behind the wheel. He gapes as Caboose clambers into the back, slamming the door shut harder than necessary. Tucker looks between the two with a raised eyebrow, but Tex only slips the key in and says, “About time to head back.”

“Uh, what?” Tucker asks as they pull out of the lot and onto the road. “Are we arresting this guy?”

Tex shakes her head, blonde ponytail swishing against her shoulders. “No, I’m just taking him with us to the station.”

“But...” Tucker stares at her in confusion. “Why?”

Her jaw twitches with frustration. “Because--” as she looks over at him, she catches sight of Caboose, face smashed against the metal separating the backseat from the front. He stares back eagerly, grinning with yellowed teeth. “What are you doing?”

“What are we talking about?” Caboose asks loudly, making the left side of Tucker’s head ring at the volume.

“Sit back,” Tex says, turning back to the road.

The streets are stop and go at this hour, especially within the thick of the city. Tucker decides to put the Adopting Random Homeless Dudes conversation on the backburner for now, instead keeping an eye out for any criminal activity. It’s a stuffy summer evening; the sun is setting, bathing the busy street in thick orange. Their car glides to a stop at a red light and Tex watches him out of the corner of her onyx eye. Although Tucker feels the gaze, he ignores it, squinting against the light as it reflects off the passing cars. Caboose bounces around behind them, patting out a beat on the seat and smacking his gum. Tucker had been close to homelessness in the past, but he can’t imagine actually being in that situation. It probably doesn’t help that this guy is such a dimwit.

The light turns green and they lurch forward only for Tex to slam on the breaks. Rubber screeches on asphalt as a van bolts out from the right and swerves in front of them, turning and speeding off straight down the street. Caboose’s groans from being thrown around are drowned out by Tex turning on the siren.

“Holy shit!” Tucker says, leaning forward. “This is the most action I’ve seen since last night!” He grins, proud that he found a way to work it in.

Tex, of course, is paying no attention whatsoever, instead radioing their dispatcher. “Hey, Niner. We got a speeding red van heading north on Vale Avenue. I’m going after them.”

“No kidding,” Niner says as Tex drives with one hand on the wheel. The car is already a good way ahead, even with traffic parting for their cruiser. “Just got a call in from someone at Haven Bank. Says some thugs robbed the place and took off in a red Chevy.” The cruiser drifts side to side as Tex keeps the radio close to her mouth, missing a civilian car by an inch.

“For fuck’s-- gimme that!” Tucker says, grabbing the radio from Tex. His stomach lurches as they peel out around a corner and his head slaps the window. The car is in sight, but they’re making no progress gaining on it. “Bank robbers, eh? Shouldn’t we have some back-up on this one?”

“I’ve redirected the others to Vale instead of the bank,” Niner says. “You’ll have two cars to back you up, just keep telling me where you’re at.”

Tucker spouts a confirmative, relaying the street signs as they pass. The red van gets closer as they race down a few blocks. Caboose groans from the backseat, nauseous and knocked into the screen from being jerked around, his head clacking against the metal. Tex grips the steering wheel like the car won’t drive properly unless her veins are popping out of place.

Tucker, on the other hand, is having the time of his life. Instincts kick in as he names off the next street over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. His voice is steady, as is his grip on the radio, despite the rush that clouds his head. This is the most police-y thing he’s done in the past month. He has no idea how he’ll be able to go back to issuing traffic tickets after a _high speed chase_ with a car full of _bank robbers_.

Their car skids around another corner, Caboose releasing a whiny “I want off the ride now!” Up ahead, the escaping van disappears through an adjacent alleyway. There are many alleys on this street that don’t dead end, instead connecting two streets with a narrow passage, so this isn’t the best development.

“Shit,” Tex bites through clenched teeth. Her foot slams on the gas and the cruiser lurches even faster, each twitch of Tex’s hands causing it to veer side to side.

Tucker whoops, pumping a fist in the air. “Still in hot pursuit, Niner,” he says with a grin. “Lost visual on the vehicle, but we should be gaining.”

 

Church walks home from work, shoulders curved and heavy. He’s really wishing he hadn’t let his girlfriend borrow his car today. The sidewalks are crowded this time of day and he’s in no mood to deal with it. He carves his way through the city on leadened legs, mind elsewhere when he turns off into the next alley. It’s a shortcut he doesn’t often take because of its odor and isolation, but he figures one walk through isn’t going to hurt.

The alley is a wind tunnel, funneling the rush of the street through it and carrying noises and smells. Church can finally see again when he steps into the shadow of the buildings. It’s cooler here, refreshing, and Church takes his time walking the alley’s length. The end is around a bend, so he can’t see the opposite street he’s walking to.

The reverberating sound of a car engine stops Church in his tracks. He isn’t very far along the alley and considers turning around. Are cars even supposed to drive through here? He has little time to ponder as the car clears the corner in front of him, wheels releasing a deafening screech when it turns. “Fuck!” Church yelps, ducking to the side.

Instead of driving his way, the car squeals to a halt next to a side door on one of the buildings. The van has dark windows, its color cherry red. The smell of the exhaust fills the air and Church coughs, taking a few cautious steps away. The passenger’s door swings open and a figure carrying a large bag jumps out and scurries to the side door. The driver’s door opens a moment after and another figure steps out, glancing around the alley. They’re squat and wear a black ski mask and oversized coat. Church meets their eyes and they both freeze.

The first person is saying something to the open side door, but Church can’t hear over his racing thoughts. Should...should he call the cops? Would these two try and take him hostage? KILL him?

“Hey!” the figure says, a man by the sound of it. His voice is unsteady, hands twitching and sweaty, but Church notices none of it. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Church gulps. With a step back, Church reaches for his phone. The man jolts.

“Fuck, alright. Let’s get going,” the man at the door says, turning back to the car. He stops, catching sight of Church.

When Church’s eyes dart back to the man who’d been staring him down, his heart drops to his stomach and his head flutters in panic. The man holds a pistol in front of him and it's pointed straight at Church.

“H-Hey now,” Church sputters, hand inching toward his phone.

“We have to GO!” says the man not holding Church’s life in his hands. Church agrees.

The gun stays, but Church dares to move. Maybe he has a death wish. He’d like to say that he’s being brave, but really it seems like the only option other than “get shot”. At least he can go for “get shot but also alert someone who can actually do something about this”. It’s the wrong move.

Church goes for his phone as the sound of sirens reach his ears, which is covered up by the sound of a gunshot. The bullet hits him and it is the worst pain he’s ever gone through. His skin pops, shredded through by the impact, and he stumbles back from the force. A white-hot burst of “OH GOD OW” shoots through Church’s core and he crumples to the ground. A car whizzes by Church’s pounding head as he tries curling in on himself.

The sirens are on top of him, bouncing off his skull as he’s engulfed. There are voices. Church hears his name, followed by a stream of frustrated talking sprinkled with curse words. He can’t latch onto them. Instead, his muscles grow weak and he drifts into an ocean of black.

 

Church is cold. Is this what death is like? Eternal winter and bright lights? Light. His entire vision is illuminated by a static gray-red light. What a shitty afterlife. So much for Jewish heaven. Death is also...cottony? Is that cotton? He definitely is feeling something on his body. This is making less and less sense as time goes by. Is that...is there someone eating?

Church pries open an eye, trying to block out as much of the blazing fluorescents as possible. His vision slowly adjusts and he scrunches his face with a groan. His body feels numb, but his head is pulsing. No, not shitty afterlife. Just shitty hospital bed.

“Hello!” Church cringes away from the voice. It’s close and he doesn’t recognize it. Shit, did he lose his memory or something? A chair creaks to his right and a shade falls over him. “Are you okay? You have been sleeping for a long time now. Oh! Do you want some of my jello? It was your jello, but I figured you wouldn’t mind if your best friend had some. D’aw, you’re such a nice guy.” Church moves his mouth, dry throat croaking. Maybe the afterlife is just some dude that steals your jello.

“Caboose, get away from him,” someone says from the door. Caboose frowns and shifts out of Church’s vision and Church blinks at the woman in the doorway.

The “Tex” on Church’s lips is weak and dies in the air, but Tex walks forward and hands a cup of water to him. Church takes it, guzzling it down. While he drinks, Tex ushers Caboose out of the room and closes the door, then stands beside his bed. Church sets the empty cup on the side table and looks up at her. Her expression is neutral, her general brand of unimpressed, but there’s a concerned layer underneath that makes Church squirm. He remembers the numb feeling in his side and asks, “how long have I been here?”

Tex crosses her arms and tilts her head. “A day or two.” Church huffs at this, chewing on his lip. “You’re going to get questioned like hell, you know.”

Church glares. “Can’t you give me like five minutes to recalibrate? I just woke up from being fucking shot!”

The door bursts open, interrupting Tex’s words. Tucker barrels in and shoves Tex out of the way, breathing heavily, and Church rolls his eyes. How did they even let him become a cop in the first place? Tucker rocks forward like he’s going to touch him, but thinks better of it. “Hey dude. Went and got yourself shot like an asshole?”

“Hey fuck you!” Church sputters. “It wasn’t my fault that--”

“Enough,” Tex growls, sidling in next to Tucker. She reaches down and takes Church’s hand. About time she started to act like a caring girlfriend. Her fingers squeeze around his and Church calms down, head slumping back against the headboard. “We’re going to hunt down the person who shot you. We think they could be part of another string of crimes, so it's just a matter of connecting the dots.”

Church stays quiet, thinking back to the alley. He isn’t really sure how much he’ll be able to recall. A red van, two criminals, one gun. The one who shot him was male and kind of short, but that’s really all he can come up with. If he could just go back there, maybe he could jostle his memory, find some clues. He’s no detective, but if he could look around…

Tex leans down and pecks his lips, her stony expression struggling to stay in place. “I’m going to get more water,” she says, turning and walking out the door.

Tucker kicks at the ground, avoiding Church’s gaze. Church scowls at him in silence until Tucker speaks up. “Glad you’re not dead.”

“Thanks. Means a lot, buddy,” Church says dryly. He observes Tucker’s face for a moment and sighs. “It’s cool.” That’s as close to a heart-to-heart as they’re going to get and Tucker glances up, relieved. “Anyway, who was the fucker that stole my jello? One of your friends?”

With a groan, Tucker flops down on the chair next to the bed as Church sits up. “Nah. ‘Parently he’s some homeless guy Tex knows. By the way, why the fuck didn’t you tell me _that_ was the crazy Allison chick you’re dating?”

Church gnaws on his lip, studying the glare of the lights against the dull linoleum. “She can be...difficult to like. My sister hated her when we started dating,” he feels his face flush and his voice reduces to a grumble. “Also, I didn’t want you hitting on her.”

Leaning back in the chair, Tucker bursts into laughter, hands slapping down on his knees. “Dude! You know I would regardless.” He grins as Church squirms. “If it makes you feel better, she’s shot me down every time. I can see why you complain so much. Girl’s a barracuda.” Church rolls his eyes and Tucker snickers. “Oh, also, she got you a present I’m sure you’ll LOVE.”

Church looks at him in confusion and opens his mouth, but the door slams open and cuts him off. Caboose bounds inside, ignoring the protests as he sits heavily down on the bed. He hadn’t noticed before, but Caboose is a head taller than Church and even larger mass-wise. This is only their second time meeting and Church feels as if he’s constantly being loomed over. “Hello, roomie!” Caboose exclaims.

“Excuse me?” Church asks, glancing over to Tucker, who has his head in his hands.

“Ah yes. You are Leonard Church, my new roommate. Miss Tex is, too. She says I can sleep on your crotch!”

“WHAT?”

“He means our couch,” Tex says from the doorway. He notices that she doesn’t have any water with her. Her smile has an edge, as do her eyes, and Church is lost in frustration. “It won’t be for long, just until he gets some things sorted out.” They lock eyes, beady black against iceberg blue, and Church’s resolve cracks and shatters across the floor.

Caboose senses Tex’s victory and bounces on the mattress. “Yay! It will be like a sleepover that goes on forever! I nominate myself as chief fort-builder.”

After Tex convinces Caboose to stay in the waiting area, the rest of the day is a blur. Halfway through Church’s hospital lunch, Commissioner Doyle arrives to question him. It’s earlier than he expected, but the questions are light and prodding and Church does his best to answer with as much information as he remembers. When Doyle leaves after about ten minutes, he gets the feeling he wasn’t much help.

A nurse comes in to check the machines he’s hooked up to. Not long after, she returns to remove the IV and tells him he’s free to leave. He signs some paperwork and meets up with Tex and Caboose at their car, waving goodbye to Tucker across the parking lot. The drive home is short and filled with Caboose’s chatter. Church doses off until they reach their house. When they arrive, he heads straight to bed and passes out.

 

It’s nearly midnight when Grif and Simmons enter the furnished basement, silent and dragging their feet. Doc is the only one there, reclined on the couch and watching Grey’s Anatomy, jolting at the sound of the door slamming shut. He peers at them through groggy eyes as they remove their jackets and sit down on two chairs scattered about the room. “Hey!” he says, sitting up with a stretch. “You two are sure home late! I thought you hit Haven today. What have you two been doing out and about for six hours, huh?” Doc grins cheekily at them, a hint of nervousness creeping in when they don’t meet his eyes. He really shouldn’t be pushing his luck; he hasn’t been here for very long.

Simmons fidgets in his seat, scratching at the wood work table that stretches the length of the wall. His mouth twitches and he meets Grif’s stare. Grif grumbles under his breath, so low that Doc and Simmons can’t understand his words. It’s that, topped with the way Grif begins to sway, that makes Doc realize he’s drunk.

Doc shakes his head with a smile, standing and walking to the small fridge in the room. “You should really be laying low after heists,” he says, opening the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. “I don’t think Sarge would like to know you’ve been out gallivanting tonight, but don’t worry,” he hands the bottle to Grif, who just stares at it, “I’ll keep it a secret.”

Shoulders hunched, Grif finally looks up at Doc. “Can you keep another secret?”

“Grif!” Simmons says from the other side of the room. He pales, a sweaty sheen enveloping his face. “I don’t think-- We should just go tell Sarge.”

Grif shakes his head, shaggy hair covering his grim expression. “What’s it fucking matter? He can know.” Doc sputters as Grif slaps a sloppy hand to his shoulder. “I killed a guy.”

Doc’s stomach churns and Simmons hurries to chime in, standing and crossing the room. “You didn’t KILL a guy. I don’t-- I mean-- Grif shot someone.”

“Bullets KILL people, Simmons.”

“That doesn’t mean he died!”

“Guess the news will tell us soon enough.”

Doc pulls out of Grif’s grasp and takes a deep breath. He looks around the room, at the cabinet that hid a variety of heavy guns and ammunition and the heist plans tacked to the walls, and chastises himself for being so shocked. This business is shady and he had known what he was getting into. Doc takes the bottle from Grif and twists open the cap, handing it back. “Well, that’s--” he coughs, “that’s not great, but this thing has happened before, right? Surely we’ll be able to cover our tracks.”

Simmons spares a second to look offended and Grif bites a laugh, taking a sip of water. “The fuck? Of course this hasn’t happened before!” Simmons says.

“God,” Grif says, grinning ruefully at the ceiling, “we are the most vanilla criminals ever.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit slower, but Caboose has been a joy to write. Flyer provided by [Pirate LynLyn!](http://piratelynlyn.tumblr.com)

Tex clenches her fists at her sides as she stands across the desk from Chief Kimball, doing her best to stay professional. The room has a long window that faces a sea of cubicles that Tex has her back to. She refuses to let her coworkers see her lose it in their boss’ office, but it’s proving difficult, especially because she knows she’s being stubborn.

“I’m sorry, officer Tex,” Kimball’s saying, voice strained, “but you should know better than anyone else that you can’t get involved in cases that have personal significance. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“I understand, but--”

“Why are you still here then?”

Tex grits her teeth, looking away in frustration. “These criminals have been running rampant long before Church was shot. I should be able to take up the case.”

“I said no!” Kimball snaps. She huffs in a breath, closing her deep blue eyes and running a hand through her dark, choppy hair. “No. You’re the girlfriend of a victim and your partner’s a close friend of his. There are too many things that could go wrong.” Shuffling the papers on her desk, Kimball stacks them and slides them into a manila folder. “I don’t want you anywhere near this one, okay?”

Tex tries not to pout. The reflection of her face in the framed diploma behind Kimball’s head tells her she fails.

With a scoff, Kimball sets the folder back on the desk. “Would you knock that off?” She places a hand on Tex’s arm like one caresses a porcupine. Tex lets her, face melting back to neutral. “Look. I can’t let you help investigate or make arrests on this case, but I’ll keep you updated.” Her hand slides away as she looks over to the closed door. Tex turns to the door’s thin window and finds Tucker, who’s trying to spy and look inconspicuous at the same time. “Looks like your ride’s here.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Tex says with a small nod, unable to look back at her superior. Instead, she strides to the door and opens it, rolling her eyes as Tucker stumbles into the room, having been leaning on it. “Let’s go, idiot.”

Tucker has the gall to give Kimball a quick wink (he’s ignored) before straightening up and turning to leave. “You know, you should really be nicer to the person who’s going to drive you home.” Tex doesn’t answer, following him as they weave through the station.

The station isn’t very busy, only a few other officers slipping by as they head to the exit. A few interns stare as they pass, eyes wide and taking in the scar that shoots its way up from Tex’s jawline to her cheekbone. One looks about to speak, but another elbows him in the side, muttering under her breath. Tex makes sure her stare is extra icy when she glances at them. They scatter like a startled flock of birds and she smiles. A little fear goes a long way. Too bad the other officers hate her more than fear her. Tucker notices none of this, flirting with every breathing body they pass by. Tex has yet to see someone flirt back.

They step outside to a misty rain that Tex takes a moment to appreciate. They’ve been having a dry spell lately, so hopefully this is a sign of more to come. The clouds are sparse, allowing the sun to catch the rain and ignite it like layers of falling fireflies.

Tucker leads her to his beat up car, dents showing in some places and paint peeling in even more. It looks like an accident waiting to happen and Tex hesitates. “Okay, I know it’s shit on the outside,” Tucker says, unlocking his door, “but the inside is clean and I’m pretty sure it won’t break down.” He climbs behind the wheel, leaning over the passenger seat to unlock Tex’s door. She sits down with apprehension, but finds the car to be clean, as Tucker had said.

“Well,” Tex says, slamming her door shut and wincing at the sharp sound it makes, “it’s a car.”

“Shut up,” Tucker scoffs, starting the car and pulling out onto the street.

They’ve only been partners for a month-- give or take, Tex isn’t keeping track --and Tex still isn’t sure how to talk to him. All his questions are too personal for her to indulge, so he often goes on his own tangents until Tex snaps at him to shut him up. She isn’t sure if their shared connection with Church changes anything. Should they be closer? More hostile? Tex has no idea what Tucker knows about her from Church, but it isn’t all good, she’s sure.

“How’s Church?” Tucker asks, startling Tex from her thoughts.

“Bitchy as always.” It slips out, but he laughs.

“God, I can imagine,” he says with a grin, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “Injured Church is the worst. One time he fell down the stairs and made me take him to the hospital. That ‘broken hand’ was only a bruise, yet he STILL wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. Don’t let him give you shit.”

“He got  _ shot _ .”

“So? His pain is half of what he’s milking it for.”

Tex shakes her head, smirk twisting onto her face. “Well, he’s spent most of the day with Caboose, so that should be more than enough punishment.”

Tucker snorts. “True.” His smile fades and he glances at her. Tex’s gaze stays steady on the road ahead, uneasy. The careful tone of his voice makes her neck prickle. “Why’d you take him home with you, anyway? You didn’t have to do that.”

“I’m not a _total_ asshole,” Tex rumbles.

Tucker raises an eyebrow without looking her way. “Yo, ease up. You know that isn’t what I meant. Just think it would be good to know what the hell’s going on in my partner’s head.”

There’s a stretch of silence as they drive. The street glistens where the rain touches, shining up scattered slabs of collected moisture. The car groans beneath them, clanking on uneven patches of road and rattling on the turns. Tex releases a small breath. She likes it better when she’s feared and mysterious. That’s why all Tex says is, “he’s not the  _ worst _ houseguest.”

Tucker shakes his head in disbelief, but says nothing else as they near Tex’s house. It’s one story and light blue, snuggled between two other squat houses. Nothing makes it stand out, its yard and porch barren, and the only sign of life is the car tucked under the carport. Tex had resigned to let Church keep the car at home in case of an emergency, but he shouldn’t be driving anyway. Ultimately...well, it  _ is _ his car to decide what to do with. Tex can’t wait for the day she saves up enough money for a motorcycle.

They pull into the driveway and the car putters to a stop. “Thanks for the ride,” Tex says, offering a faint smile.

“No problem,” Tucker says with an easy grin. “I’m always offering free rides. Bow chicka bow wow!” Tex punches Tucker’s shoulder, causing him to curl up in his seat. “Ow, fuck! Okay okay, no more flirting, got it. Man, and you had to go injuring my  _ good _ arm.” His next “bow chicka bow wow” sounds much more dejected.

Tex has no idea how this man goes from picking her brain to pulling bad pick-ups, but he manages with ease. With a terse “goodbye, Tucker,” Tex slips from the car and heads up the concrete path to the door. Inside, Church is yelling at Caboose over a game of Monopoly and she makes a break for the kitchen. How did she end up surrounded by children?

 

Tucker doesn’t drive straight home after dropping off Tex. Instead, he heads further into town, finding a spot to park and hitting the sidewalks.

The rain had petered out, sun setting on the horizon and leaving the night air crisp and cool. Streetlamps flicker on, illuminating the frequent passerby with their yellowed spotlights. Tucker takes a few turns before stopping next to a police-taped alleyway.

A few investigators are standing around, chatting and wrapping up what they’re doing. Tucker recognizes one or two and he spares a small wave to each before studying the alley. A side door down and to the left, some markings on the ground in chalk, shadows closing in as the sun finally delves beneath the skyline. The remaining investigators hop in their cars and drive off through the other end of the alley out of sight, leaving the area quiet and empty. It’s now easier to imagine Church, stood frozen as a man holds up a gun. Blood sprays through the air and paints the concrete. Tucker had been on the scene after the shot rang out and the shooter was long gone, cursing the sky and rushing to Tex, who had one hand on Church and the other on her radio. It was one long minute until backup arrived and two long minutes for the ambulance.

“Tucker?”

His head snaps to the side, his name jarring him from the memory. Down the sidewalk, back hunched and chin-length hair pulled back, stands Grif, owner of a pawn shop not far from Tucker’s apartment. “Hey dude,” he says, walking closer. “Haven’t had any good shit to pawn off lately. How’ve you been?”

Grif shuffles and looks away. “Alright. They kick you out of cop school?”

“Pft, they tried,” Tucker grins, but it turns hesitant when Grif still doesn’t meet his eyes. “You sure you’re alright? You’re lookin’ out of it.”

“Huh?” Grif startles, hazel eyes popping up. “Oh...yeah. Just heard about this shooting.” He gestures to the crime scene. “Crazy shit, huh? You know what happened to the guy?”

Tucker raises an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah. I’m actually friends with him. He’s fine. Still a major douche, but he’s alive.” He cocks his head. “You worried? These cases are pretty easy, if it makes you feel any better. Cocky pricks dump their guns somewhere obvious or leave their vehicle with a million clues. We’ll catch ‘em in no time.”

Grif’s frown causes scar tissue on the left side of his face to tug downward. Must have been fire that scorched his cheek and arm, but Tucker had never bothered to ask. “Yeah. Thanks man. Come by sometime,” Grif says, face clearing, expression casual. “I’ve been needing someone to entertain Kai when she’s off the clock.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll entertain her with something, alright. Bow chicka bow wow!.”

“Ugh!” Grif flips him off. “Don’t do that. Anyway, I gotta go. See you around?”

“Yeah man,” Tucker says, bumping his fist against Grif’s. “Be careful out there.”

Grif turns and waves a lazy goodbye over his shoulder.

 

Church has woken up every day for the past few weeks to the sound of Caboose “quietly” tapping on the bedroom door. Each time this happens, Church jostles Tex to wake up and feed their houseguest. Each time, Tex forgets about his injury, punches him in the arm, mutters an apology when he screams in pain, and gets up. It’s a morning routine that really grates on a person’s nerves.

Today is no different, except it hurts less when Tex hits him. He shifts in confusion at the lack of pain and finds that the wound in his side aches considerably less than usual. Huh, maybe he’s actually getting better. Church sits up and inspects the stitching that creates an ugly slice up his side. The bullet had missed everything important, but it still hurt like a bitch. Most of the following days had been spent in a wheelchair, which Church acted like he hated, but loved since it meant he didn’t have to do shit for a while. Plus, breakfast in bed.

Tex slips inside the room, dressed in her uniform, hands empty, as Church looks away from his stitches. She gives him a quick goodbye and a peck on the lips.

“Hey,” Church says as she turns back to the door. “Where’s my breakfast?”

Tex rolls her eyes, squeezing his hand. “I’m running late. Breakfast is in the kitchen.” She gives him another kiss as he sputters, then hurries away. The front door slams shut seconds later, and Church listens to the sound of Tucker’s car chug off. He sighs. Yeah, there’s no way he’s going to be in the same room as Caboose this early in the morning. With a grumble in his stomach, he falls back asleep.

It’s only thirty minutes later when Church jolts awake to the sound of a huge crash followed by, “that was not my fault!”

It’s a sign that Church has spent too much time around Caboose when it feels completely natural to yell, “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT” at the top of his lungs. The action puts stress on Church’s wound, but he bites back the pain as Caboose comes galloping into the room.

“Okay, well, you see. I was going to get some board games, because I know that they are your absolute favorite in the whole entire world, but then instead of getting one I got ALL of them. But it was not my fault because I only wanted one. Also all of your games are on the floor now.”

Church rubs his forehead, looking away from Caboose’s fidgeting form. Without saying anything, he picks himself up out of bed and slides on his glasses from the nightstand. It’s always too early to deal with Caboose. He pulls on a shirt and leads them both out of the bedroom, tired head hung, shoulders drooped. “Let’s just eat something,” he grumbles.

“Okay!” Caboose chirps as they walk down the hallway, through the living room, and into the kitchen. “I love second breakfast!”

The morning goes as expected. Church eats in silence while Caboose chatters away, occasionally taking a bite of his pancakes despite already having eaten before Tex left. There’s a game of Uno after breakfast (they’d been banned from Monopoly). Caboose ends up winning twenty times in a row, Church rips up a few cards, and they agree to just watch Jeopardy for a while.

It’s slow. Slow, like every day has been for the past few weeks. Software development isn’t exactly the most thrilling job in the world, but Church is starting to miss it.

It’s when Caboose tries to initiate a third game of Scrabble that Church decides he needs to do something. It’s one of his better days when it comes to the pain in his side, so he grabs his keys from the kitchen drawer.

“Hey, Caboose,” Church says from across the room, hand on the doorknob. “I’m going to go out for a while. Try not to break anything.” The door swings shut at Caboose’s response of “goodbye!”

The afternoon air is misty, clouds of fog clinging stubbornly to the street. Church gives himself a moment to breathe it in. Damn, it feels like ages since he’s even  _ seen  _ the outdoors. He makes his way down the walkway to his car. Oh yeah, driving was also a thing he hasn’t done in a while. The small, white car is in decent shape, and the wet air has gathered dewy moisture on the windows.

Church climbs in with little protest from his injury. Well, if he doesn’t get out  _ today _ , with his pain somewhat subsided, then who knows the next chance he’ll get. He turns the key and the car rattles. That probably needs to be checked out. Either way, the engine starts and Church drives off, car warming up beneath him.

The roads are less busy away from the main part of town and Church speeds past houses through the hazy streets. A song on the radio fades into the background and he lets his hands take him wherever, no location in mind. As he nears the town, Church pays more attention so he doesn’t run through stop lights and mow down anyone on the crosswalks. It isn’t long before he pulls up to a curb and he gets out. Church hadn’t meant to stop here, but he’s compelled to follow through.

Church pauses at the mouth of the alleyway and a group of people have to divide to avoid him. The alley is empty of police tape and any other signs of investigation; the only thing that reminds Church of the shooting is his own memory. He steps forward, to the spot his blood had pooled. A phantom pulse of pain causes a hand to reach up to his side. Those sons of bitches. Still no trace of them found, which makes Tex even more of a joy to be around.

A gust of wind slaps the thought out of his mind. He should be less critical. There are worse things than a worried girlfriend.

The side door calls Church’s attention, the same door that the first criminal had gone to. He approaches it with appraising eyes. Nothing out of place about it, just a rusty door that led into an abandoned building. He pushes the handle, expecting no outcome, but the door swings open with an obnoxious grating noise.

It’s about now that Church considers running in the other direction. There could be some underground crime ring in there, or the guy who shot him, or even just squatters. If there are people in the building at all, he doesn’t want to get involved. Against better judgement, he enters.

It’s a decrepit room, all concrete and water stains. A folding table is on its side, shelves decayed and cracked, single light bulb flickering. The air is frigid in contrast to the dank atmosphere outside. Church steps with caution, hands close to his body. Besides the ruined furniture, there isn’t anything substantial. He tries tugging on the double doors that lead further into the building, but they’re solid and don’t budge after a minute of pushing and pulling. Sweat collects on his brow as he steps back. Nerves take over and, as Church is about to dart back out the door, something catches his eye, crumpled and shoved in a corner. The pink of the paper is out of place in the cellar-like room. Picking it up and flattening it out, he reads in confusion: “RED’S AUTOMOTIVE SERVICES AND BAKED GOODS. Eat a mounds bar brownie while you get mounted!” What the hell kind of combination is that?

There is nothing else. No other documents or information, just the flier. Church leaves the room and heads back down the alley. At the very least, he could get his car checked out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, and for all of your kind comments :D  
> Art, as always, is provided by [Pirate LynLyn!](http://piratelynlyn.tumblr.com)

Tucker was sat behind his desk, digging into a bag of chips and scrolling through clickbait articles, when Tex slams her heel into the back of his roller chair, his lungs clotheslined by the table. The chips fly out of his hand and he keels over across the keyboard. “What the...huagh...what the f-fuck,” he wheezes. “Why m-me?”

“You’re an easy target,” Tex says from behind him. “And I wanted to set you up for a good first impression.”

Lungs permanently lodged up in his ribcage, Tucker turns to see the people standing behind his partner with a hand rubbing his stomach. Church had said Tex expressed her love through violence. Church was a fucking dick who didn’t know jack shit about love or human beings.

“Actually,” a female voice says, “we’ve had a worse first impression than this.”

Tucker snaps up straight, recognizing the blood red hair and humor-filled green eyes. “Hey, I was looking good that night.”

“You threw up on my shoes. And in my purse.”

“Oh...OH. Those were YOURS?”

Tex looks between them, eyebrows drawn. Tucker feels an inch tall when she settles on him. “Seriously?”

“Oh shut up.” He stands, air returning to his body. “But yeah, I’ve met Church’s sister a few times. How’re you doing, Carolina?”

Carolina gives him a small nod, smirk fixed on her face. “Good. I’m actually looking to get a job at this station. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the force and Texas says she can get in a good word for me.”

“Texas?”

“An old nickname,” Tex explains. “Carolina and I used to work together, along with Niner.” She puts her hand on the shoulder of the man to her other side. “This is Washington. He worked with us too.”

“Uh--” Washington startles, not prepared to talk. “Wash. You can just call me Wash.” He holds out a hand and Tucker takes it while eying the man’s features. A bit taller than him, broad shoulders, blonde, light freckles, strong jaw.

Tucker smirks, looking over at Tex as he shakes Wash’s hand. “Damn, Tex. Why didn’t you mention that literally all of your friends are super hot?” Wash flushes and Carolina looks thrilled because of it. Tucker winks at her, turning back to Wash. “That’s including me, by the way.”

Wash jerks his hand back. “Gee, thanks.”

“Yes, thank you, Tucker,” Carolina says. “When did you get so complimentary?”

“Enough,” Tex says, shoulders tense. “Come with us to lunch, before I change my mind.”

Tucker surrenders, packing away his chips and joining them on their walk to the exit. Carolina keeps up a decent amount of conversation and he catches up with her. Even though Tucker has known Church for a while, he’s had few interactions with his sister. She mentions how she teased Church when she visited the other day and how she’s going to move back into town if she gets the job. Tex chimes in more as they hit the sidewalk, and by the time they’re eating, Wash is talking too.

“--And he forgot to hold up his arm, so the dog bit down on his--”

“Carolina!” Wash interrupts, voice straining to be quiet in the busy diner. “I think that’s enough of the police academy stories.”

Tucker leans an elbow on the table while he tries to get his laughter under control. He looks between Carolina, who grins at him in return, and Wash, who busies himself in his french fries. With a rub to his watery eyes, Tucker sits upright and slows his stuttery breaths. “Wow dude, you were kind of a fucking mess,” he says. He notices Tex pacing just outside of the diner window on her phone. “How did you even get on her level?”

Wash scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “I improved.”

“The only one who could compete with Tex was me,” Carolina says, expression turned more reserved. “I’m just giving Wash a hard time.”

“Huh,” Tucker says. The napkin twists and tears in his hand as he clenches his fingers around it. Tex had hardly warmed up at all in the time they’ve been partners, instead keeping her distance and snapping at his every mistake. Most of that probably had to do with her stressing about Church, but Tucker wanted to help her out. “So you three are pretty close?”

Carolina and Wash share a look that makes Tucker feel sorry for asking. It’s only when Carolina speaks does he know why. “If you want us to ask her out for you, the answer is no.”

“What?!” Tucker twists in the booth and meets Tex’s eyes through the glass. While he flips her off and she glares back in confusion, Tucker says, “okay, so she totally told you to say that. But I gave up hitting on her months ago!” He faces the people across him again, who both look skeptical. “I was going to ask you more about her. Well, how to deal with her, I guess.”

“‘How to deal with her’?” Wash asks.

Tucker shrugs. “Yeah, I dunno, like does she have a command you can input that makes her less of a soul-crushing robot?” he asks, which makes Carolina purse her lips.

“Have you tried referring to her as a person instead of a robot?” Wash asks. His head turns to the entrance of the diner and he squirms. Tucker follows the gaze to Tex, who pushes her way through the doors and zigzags between tables to their booth.

“My boyfriend was born without a brain,” Tex says as she slides into the seat next to Tucker. “He’s out running around town with a bullet wound.”

The conversation slips away from Tucker, but he lets it go. He has a plan. Not a good one, but at least it’s something. After they eat, the four of them walk back to the station, Wash going on about his two new kittens. When they reach the right floor, Wash and Carolina start walking away back to Tex’s desk. Before he loses his chance, Tucker latches onto Wash’s arm.

“Hey Wash, can I talk with you for a sec?” Tucker asks with his best “come hither” face. He has no idea what he actually looks like, but he’s sure he looks seductive...or maybe not, judging from Wash’s own face. Tex stops to look back at them, hands clenched at her sides, while Carolina pulls her away in exasperation.

“What is it, Tucker?” Oh wow, this dude was king of deadpan, okay. Maybe it will be better to change tactics here.

Tucker sighs, turning serious. His chocolate brown eyes meet Wash’s stormy blues. “Look, we never finished that conversation about Tex, and I  _ really _ need to know how to approach her before she chops my balls off. Now,” Tucker says as he reaches out and rests a hand on Wash’s elbow, which Wash regards wearily, “we can have this whole thing double as a date.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “But it ain’t necessary. Really, the only difference is what bed you wake up in. Bow chicka bow wow.”

“Seriously?” Wash does not seem impressed.

“What, you expect me NOT to make another pass at you?” Tucker shakes his head. “Wait, we’re getting off track.”

“WE?”

“Can you just agree to talk with me sometime? Preferably sooner rather than later?”

Wash huffs, eyes darting away in thought. Tucker watches his teeth nibble the inside of his mouth. The shake Wash gives his head knocks Tucker out of his own thoughts, and Wash reaches into his pocket. “Fine, but I’m doing this for Tex” he says, holding out his phone for Tucker to input his number. “It’s not a date, though.”

“Hell yeah!” Tucker says with a fist pump to the air. As he grabs the phone and puts in his number, he says, “oh don’t worry, baby, I’ll win you over.”

Tucker should really learn to keep his mouth shut because, that week, Tucker and Wash do meet up and the first half of the date goes awful. Tucker asks some questions about Tex, but after a certain point Wash either doesn’t know or doesn’t feel comfortable saying. Any time the conversation leads to Tex’s past or her and Wash’s history together, Wash panics and suggests a different topic. After a while of this, Tucker decides to drop the entire thing and just act like it’s an actual date. Wash is cool when he’s relaxed and Tucker finds he can hold his own when it comes to banter. They end it all with an awkward peck on the lips, and Tucker to marks Wash down as “not right now, but maybe something could work out in the future”.

_ So much for plan A _ , thinks Tucker as he drives away from Wash’s apartment building. Maybe he’s going about this the wrong way. As Tucker spends more time with Tex outside of work, he realizes that her rough exterior doesn’t go very deep. He just needs a way to draw out a person who is actually approachable. It’s time to throw a party.

 

The sound of screwing and banging is drowned out by the classical orchestra that plays through the shop’s speakers. Donut prepares orders, humming to himself and zipping to and fro between the other employees. He’s the boss when it comes to this half of the building and everyone gives him his space.

“Antoine!” Donut calls, finishing prep on a few rows of pastries. “Get these croissants in the oven, please!”

Jensen snickers from behind the register as another worker comes to take the sheet from Donut. “It’s Bitters.”

Donut wipes his hands on his apron. “Ha! What kind of name is ‘Bitters’?”

“Franklin Delano Donut,” Bitters says, eye twitching. “Your name is literally ‘Franklin Delano Donut’.”

“I don’t see your point!” Donut says with a grin, hopping to the other side of the counter to clean up a table. The bakery is doing nicely today, a steady stream of people coming in and out. It’s the best kind of workday to have, in Donut’s opinion. If the farm life taught him anything, it was a good work ethic. And how to milk something thirty-three different ways. Man, summers were a blast.

As Donut’s giving the table a good scrub-down, he spots someone standing just outside his vision. “Hey,” the man says when Donut stands upright. “Is this,” he looks at the paper in his hand, “‘Red’s Automotive Services and Baked Goods’? I need my car checked out.”

“Oh!” Donut exclaims, gripping the rag in his hand in excitement. “This is the place! Is that our ad?”

The man raises an eyebrow and glances back at the paper. “Huh? I mean, yeah, I found this flier.”

“Oooh, really! I knew those would bring in customers. Do you need a mounting?”

“What are you even--”

“Your tires,” a voice chimes in from beside the counter. Donut whips around to see Simmons, pen tucked behind his ear, repulsed look on his face. “He’s asking if you need your tires mounted.”

Donut scoffs, leading the man to the counter. “Why do you always have to correct me? He knew what I meant!”

“Sure,” Simmons says while turning back to the clipboard in his hands. “I need you to check stock on chocolate syrup. All the boxes back there are labeled wrong.”

“You just aren’t looking in the right places! Here.” Donut pats Simmons on the arm and slips behind the counter. “You help this customer, I’ll go check the stock.”

Simmons holds back a testy response and faces the customer. “So I guess you're looking for our…” he trails off, the person in front of him registering in his brain for the first time. Moppy black hair, light beard, glasses. Simmons hadn't been that close, but this is definitely the guy Grif had shot. “This way!” he squeaks, spinning on his heel and taking off to the back of the store where large double doors stood.

Grif had said he was alive, but what are the chances that he’d waltz into their store? How did he even find them?...Donut’s stupid fucking flier, of course. Oh god, what if Simmons is recognized? He can’t get thrown in prison. If high school jocks were bad, actual felons would eat him alive! How had he gotten to this position in his life, what had he done wrong, how will he--?

Simmons pauses. The man is staring at him as they stop in the doorway to the garage while Simmons’ heavy breathing fills the air. With an extended, calming breath, Simmons composes himself and leads the man into the garage.

A car is up on a jack in the center of the room with Lopez’s feet sticking out from underneath like the Wicked Witch of the East. Two out of three garage doors are open, letting the cool air fight the heat of the room. The ground floor of the building always seems to accumulate hot air, while the basement below is like a meat locker. This, along with the car fumes and his own gnawing anxiety, causes Simmons’ brow to bead sweat and his hands to clam up. Unable to say more than three words, Simmons manages a “wait right here!” before scuttling off through a door across the room.

Simmons finds Sarge down a hallway, inside his office, and hesitates outside the door. Both shops have doors leading out to the hallway he’s standing in, so the sound of clanking machinery melds with the bustle of workers in the kitchen. The smell of oil and sugar burns his nose as he forces himself into the office.

Sarge’s office is less of an office and more of a second garage. Although it’s small, the space has a desk that holds various pieces of metal and scraps. The chair has turned into a second table full of tools and dirty rags that sits in the corner. Sarge stands behind the desk while fiddling with a broken radio. “Goddarn it,” Sarge grumbles, jamming a screwdriver into its open back. “Unholy piece of--”

“Hey, Sarge!”

_ Fwooooosh! _ Simmons squeals as the screwdriver goes whizzing past his head and embeds itself into the wall behind him.

“Oh! Sorry ‘bout that, Simmons!” Sarge chuckles and grabs a second screwdriver from his pile of tools. “Didn’t see ya there. Lucky I didn’t take an eye out! Leg actin’ up again?”

“No...” Simmons says, heart racing as he pulls the door shut behind him. His metal left limb clatters as he comes closer. “I just came by to tell you something…”

Sarge wedges the new screwdriver into the radio and nods along. “Uh huh.”

“Well, you know how Donut has been trying to get us to hand out those stupid flier ads?”

“Mmh.”

“And you know how I sometimes give one to whoever is taking the bag at the money drop, and how paper can sometimes get misplaced, sometimes at the scene of a crime?”

“Spit it out, son!”

Simmons holds in a breath before blurting, “the guy that Grif shot is in our garage and needs help with his car and I don’t know how to deal with this right now!”

Sarge grunts, setting his work aside. A hand runs through his silver hair and leaves oily streaks where his fingers touch. “Huh, well if it ain’t a small world after all.”

“Sarge!” Simmons realizes he’s started wringing his hands together, but does nothing to stop the motion. “What if he goes to the police?”

Rounding the desk, Sarge slaps a rough hand down on Simmons’ shoulder. He doesn’t look worried in the slightest, which only causes Simmons to become more panicked. Sarge pushes him aside and steps into the hallway. “I’ll handle the predicament. Why don’t ya skedaddle and go help Powderpuff.”

Sarge makes his way into the garage with less confidence than he appears to have. The news of Grif gunning some random guy down in an alley hadn’t been surprising; in fact, it was more surprising that it hadn’t happened sooner. Each one of them  _ is  _ armed to the teeth, after all. That doesn’t mean it isn’t a cause of stress. Grif is only ever seen at meals now, and Donut has started knitting up a fuzzy storm in his worry. Finding out the man had survived doesn’t help things. It only means that there’s a chance he’ll recognize one of them, something that isn’t great for a group of criminals.

Lopez doesn’t seem to care either way, busying himself with the truck that’s parked in the garage, paying no mind to the stranger that stands just in front of the door leading to the bakery. Sarge treats him like any other customer.

“Hey!” Sarge says, the other man startling to attention. He holds out his hand and puts on a grin. “Name’s Sarge! What can I help ya with?”

“Uh…” the man shakes his hand with a cautious glance across the garage. “My car’s been making weird noises.”

“Fantastic! Pull your clunker in through this here door and I’ll take a little look-see.”

When the man leaves, there's the  _ thunk-a-thunk _ of Lopez rolling out from underneath the car and Sarge shares a look with him. Lopez shrugs and stands. As he makes his way to the workbench, the rumble of a car grows louder and echoes off the concrete walls of the garage. The small, white car pulls in, rattling all the while, and Sarge steps up to the driver’s side as it comes to a stop.

In the minutes that follow, Sarge replaces the man (he says his name is Church) behind the steering wheel, starts the engine back up, and tries determining the problem. Church stands by, studying the oil stains on the ground to pass the time. Sarge is just about to shut the car off when Church meanders up to the open window. “So, uh,” he starts, “you guys get-- you get a lot of business out here?”

Sarge keeps the motor running. He better see where this conversation is going. “Yup, I’d say we do pretty well! If ya ain't here for a tune-up, then you’re here for a turnover, heh heh.”

“Right. So...did you hear about that shooting last month? Wasn't too far from here.”

Wow, this guy wouldn’t know subtle if it bit him on the kiester. Sarge grunts an affirmative and nods. “Sure did. Heard the kid lived to tell the tale.”

Church stays silent a moment, top teeth coming down to nibble on his lip. The rumble of the car stops and Sarge clambers out. It’s clear that Church doesn’t know that the building he’s standing in is home to the very person who shot him, and that Church is no threat to them. Why barge into a dangerous place without somebody to back you up? “Whelp,” Sarge says, walking to the front of the car, “think I know what yer problem is. Mind helpin’ me with the hood?”

The rest of the exchange is uneventful and gains Sarge another customer. He thinks of it as paying the man back for a dreadful deed. Of course, Church would still have to pay for his car to be repaired...Yeah, karma will still be out of whack for a while after this.

As the day goes on, Sarge has time to ponder it. He thinks about Lopez and Simmons and Grif and Donut and Kai and that other guy that he always forgets until he needs a wound patched up. All living under the same roof. A bad feeling settles in his stomach and, after a brief conversation with Lopez, he comes to a decision.

**Author's Note:**

> All of the fake names I came up with were painfully generic, so I threw in some last minute RWBY references ;)


End file.
